Tuesday, August 18, 2009

I was only dreaming.

What does it mean when you dream that modern-day Nazis are guarding your house, and one of them looks like the guy who plays Draco Malfoy in the Harry Potter movies? And then they throw a time bomb through your window, and you bust out of your house and only thing you grab is your cat. And then you're running up a really steep hill in a successful escape from Malfoy and the Nazis. And then, naturally, all of the sudden you are with a guy who happens to be wearing blue eyeshadow. You tease him, asking if he's going through a Kevin Barnes-eqsue phase. Thankfully, he declines. He is very elusive, hard to read, and likes to watch you get ready for the day. Then he puts a ring on your finger, smiles, and says he's never given a girl a ring before. But it's your ring, one that you bought yourself. Jerkwad.
















Kevin Barnes, of Montreal frontman.

(*Warning- if you ever do a Google image search of this man, naked images of him performing will inevitably pop up. This is the exact reason I didn't dare attend his most recent concert. Love you, Kev, but *puke.*)

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Overheard.

It is now time for "Overheard at the Coffee Shop," a series where I tell you about silly, poignant, interesting, or stupid conversations I overhear in coffee shops or other places while staring into a book or newspaper and consuming a delicious drink or foodstuff.

"Overheard 1"- Saturday, August 15, 2009.

Where: Caffe Ibis.
Eating/Drinking: Dark roast coffee and blackberry coffeecake.
Reading: "Me Talk Pretty One Day" by David Sedaris.


Conversation went something like this (quotes are not exact):

Lady who appears to be in her 30s and who is some kind of instructor at the university:
"...Well, it's not fair. Women can't go out alone in public without being bothered. I can't go anywhere alone without being hit on or bothered by someone. It's not fair. Guys can just go sit somewhere alone and read in peace. Women are victims."

Guy: Something interesting. (I couldn't hear what he said.)


Commentary in my head went something like this:


Really, madam? I am a female. I have been sitting here, alone in a public place, for about an hour. No one has "bothered" me or "hit on" me, unless you count the fly who landed on my shoulder a couple times. And I think that was more of a throwing-up-on or pooping-on than anything else. And would you believe, madam, that I frequently sit in public places alone without being approached, except for that time when that guy with the really long earrings just couldn't contain himself about how young I looked? You see, the fact that you are a very attractive, intelligent female doesn't permit you to speak for the rest of us. Perhaps you shouldn't make such broad generalizations about women getting hit on all the time, just because it always happens to you. I'm not trying to be rude, that's just how it is. And it's pretty hard to ignore when I, the lone female, am sitting right across from you.


...And that concludes "Overheard at the Coffee Shop" for this week. Stay tuned for more coffee and conversation in the upcoming weeks.

**IRONY: A week after I wrote this, I was "bothered" by a man in the same coffeeshop. I just wanted to sit and read in peace and he kept talking to me and bragging about his art. And somehow I ended up giving him my phone number. Funny how that happens when you are not in the least bit interested in the person. Not to be rude, I'm just being honest. And then he kept calling and calling me for a while. Oops.

Monday, August 10, 2009

An excerpt.

Dear Miss A.,

I realize it's been a terribly long time since I've written you. I don't really know why. I'm bad at keeping up with things. And facing things. But here I am, I'm facing you, telling you about my day, whether you like it or not.

I thought of you the other day when I bought a classy pair of brown high heels. They are really high and painful. I tried them on probably 20 times before buying them. And there I found myself, lost in the cacophony of shoes at Nordstrom Rack, remembering how you always said high heels were comfortable for you and how it made me jealous. My stupid narrow feet and high arches. Thinking of you amidst the shoe aisles is not an uncommon occurrence for me. I can't go shoe shopping without thinking how much you would want to buy this black pair of peep-toe, hidden platform heels (nevermind you already had several pairs of a similar shoe), or this pair of red satin pumps. Buying my pair of heels was easier knowing you would approve. Buying heels is a big deal for me-- it doesn't happen often. That was always your thing. Maybe that's why I bought them-- so that when I wear them, I'm wearing a little bit of you. I wore them to a wedding with a beautiful aquamarine dress that actually made my eyes blue. I felt pretty for once, and now I understand why you loved to dress to the nines and feel pretty.

I saw the new movie with John Krasinski yesterday. I couldn't help but feel guilty that I was seeing it and you weren't. He was absolutely yours. You would always say, "I want to climb him like a tree." I always thought that was peculiar, but now it makes a lot of sense to me. I mean, he is tall. And handsome, especially with that beard.

For Andrew's wedding luncheon, I sang a lovely little song called "Find Love." Now I understand why you wanted so badly to find true love. I surely hope you've found it somewhere in those crazy stars and planets, amidst millions of flitty butterflies, with Coldplay songs streaming across a galaxy.

And I sure as hell hope I find it on this silly little Earth.